Micky focused on breathing. He was used to running a lot. Kind of had to be between his never-ending energy and the adventures they got themselves into on a regular basis. But this run to the hospital was farther than they usually ran at one time. When Mike had gotten the call from the hospital, the two of them had run out to the Monkeemobile, only to find that it wouldn't start. They were both too worried about their friends to spend any time working on the car. They had simply started running instead.
They still had a few blocks to go. Micky slowed his pace a little so he wouldn't leave Mike behind. Mike made good strides with his long legs, but he just didn't have the same overabundance of energy as Micky.
Micky let his mind wander back to the Monkeemobile. He had just cleaned the sparkplugs two days ago. It had been running like a dream. He had a bad feeling about it. Zeckenbush's men had been to the Pad, had they maybe messed with the car so they wouldn't be able to get somewhere quick in case of emergency? The bad feeling got heavier. What if they caused the accident that hurt Davy and Peter? He knew one thing, if Zeckenbush did cause their friends to get hurt, he was going to find out that Micky might be skinny, but he could fight if he needed to.
Mike was having similar thoughts. He had just driven the car that morning. It was fine then. He felt a stitch in his side as he tried to control his breathing. He thought back to the phone call. He didn't even think to ask what happened. He just heard that Davy and Peter were hurt. He didn't even know if it was serious or minor. He noticed Micky slowing down more for him. He tried to pick up the pace as much as he could. He didn't feel like Micky needed to know that Mike hadn't really eaten much since the neighbors had moved in, in an attempt to make sure there was enough food to go around. So he tried to keep on his feet. And failed.
Micky slid to a stop as Mike stumbled. "Hey, man, we need to rest for a minute."
"No. Almost there," Mike panted.
"Can't help them much if you pass out before we get there. Sit down." Micky led him over to the nearest bench. He was worried by how bad Mike was shaking. "When did you eat last?"
"Why's that matter?"
"Because you look like you're having an internal earthquake. You said your nerves were bothering you this morning. You didn't eat breakfast, did you?"
Mike shook his head. "I was afraid I'd throw up if I did."
"And I know you didn't eat lunch or dinner yesterday. We were too busy campaigning."
"So? We all sometimes go a day or two without eating when things get tight." Mike tried to control his trembling limbs.
"Yeah, but we don't go run across town when that happens." Micky suddenly looked deep in thought.
"What?"
Micky forgot about being tired and began pacing. "When I told them to get food, I knew Davy would take them to that new Chinese place. He's got a thing for the girl there."
"What's that have to do with anything?"
"It's three blocks from the Pad in the other direction. If there had been some kind of accident, there's a hospital right down the street. They wouldn't have taken them to the hospital miles out of the way."
"You think this whole this is another 'sabotooge' job to discourage us?"
Micky nodded. "I'm going to find out for sure." He walked over to a phonebooth a little way down the street. He dug a dime out of his pocket. As the operator connected his call, he cleared his throat. When someone answered, he put on his falsetto voice. "Hello? Is this the St. Charles Hospital? I think my son was brought in! Can you please check, please? Please, his name is Peter Tork! Can you see if he's there, please? Oh, my poor baby! I think his friend may be there, too. His name is Davy Jones. Oh, heavens! I knew nothing good would come of him having long hair!" He stopped to catch his breath as he listened to the nurse. "Oh, really? Well, thank you."
"What'd they say?"
Micky let out a yelp. "Don't do that!"
Mike gave a sly grin. "Sorry. Just didn't like not being able to hear what you were saying."
"Put a bell around your neck next time. The nurse said neither of them have been brought in and there hasn't been any male John Doe's this afternoon."
"What should we do now?" Mike leaned against the phonebooth, trying to keep his balance. His head was hurting too much to think.
Micky watched him with a worried expression. "I'm going to call Foxton Hospital and see if the guys are there. If they're not, we'll know this whole thing was set up by Zeckenbush to make us panic." He dug another dime from his pocket. He went through his charade again, asking in his falsetto voice if his son had been brought in.
After a few minutes, Micky hung up the phone. "They're not there, either."
"Where do you think they are?"
"Probably at the Pad, watching the food get cold and wondering where in the world we are." Micky searched his pockets again. "I'm out of change. Do you have a dime?"
Mike checked his pockets. "I'm broke."
Micky snapped his fingers in frustration. "I was going to call home so they know where we are."
"It's going to take forever to get back." Mike wasn't sure he could walk all the way back.
"We'll use this," Micky pulled the cash from his wallet.
"But that's dirty money, Mick. We can't use it now that we know that."
"We're not going to use it for the campaign. It's simply a donation from Zeckenbush so I don't have to carry you." Micky walked to the edge of the sidewalk to wait for a taxi to wave down. "Don't worry, babe. In a few minutes, we'll all be at the Pad laughing about this."